


Nooner

by silkinsilence



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 00:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21290558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkinsilence/pseuds/silkinsilence
Summary: ‍⌖ Angela has an appointment scheduled with Captain Amari and Doctor O'Deorain.
Relationships: Ana Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Ana Amari/Moira O'Deorain, Ana Amari/Moira O'Deorain/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Moira O'Deorain/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	Nooner

**Author's Note:**

> i have a theory

“I’m so sorry,” Angela says, slightly out of breath, as she enters the room and closes the door hastily behind her. Thirteen minutes late. The kind of tardiness that would surely earn her discipline if that was the sort of game they were playing today.

But it isn’t.

“No need to apologize,” Ana says pleasantly. “We can be patient.”

Angela looks between them and the color begins to rise in her cheeks. It is like watching her slowly transition from the consummate professional she is at work to something else entirely. Like watching her imagination already running minutes into the future to see what they have in store for her.

“What can I do for you, Captain, Doctor?” she asks softly.

Ana glances sideways at Moira, who inclines her chin in a subtle show of deference. Captain Amari, as always, holds the power in the room. Angela is her toy. She is simply magnanimous enough to let Moira play with her as well.

“We were thinking an examination was in order.” Ana nods toward the cold metal table intended for patients. “Sit up there, please, _habibti_, and let us take a look at you.”

There is only the faintest hint of something  _more _ in her words, of lust and hunger. But even such a small suggestion makes Moira’s stomach clench in anticipation, and the words must have the same impact on Angela, if the speed with which she crosses the room and hoists herself onto the table is any indication.

“I don’t think an examination is necessary,” Angela demurs. She’s coiling a strand of blonde hair around one finger and wearing an innocent expression like they haven’t both _examined _her to their hearts’ content previously.

“We’ll decide that,” Moira says. It is too sharp, and Ana gives her a warning glance. She falls silent, part of her protesting her obedience and part of her wishing she was on the table instead.

“It’s necessary,” Ana says. “Take off your lab coat, if you please.”

She commands the same force Moira does, but her voice does not lose even a bit of its warmth. That is perhaps the most alluring thing about Ana, how she simply gives orders and expects them to be obeyed. Her power is effortless, and, if the other two women in the room are any indication, absolute.

Angela nods, her cheeks going pinker and her lips curling the slightest bit upward. She loves showing herself off. Moira loves and disdains her for that. Angela is so desperate for attention, as if she hasn’t been showered in it her whole life. The limelight isn’t enough; she needs to peacock herself in front of her coworkers to get off.

She takes off the coat and lets it fall to the floor. Underneath she wears a turtleneck and a tight little skirt. At once the cause for her delay is obvious; she never wears anything but slacks to work, and certainly nothing as flattering as this. The dark red fabric hugs her hips and her thighs down to several sinful inches above the knee. As she shifts on the table, her legs come apart, and Moira finds herself infuriatingly desperate for her to spread them just a little bit wider, just far enough to show them what’s inside her skirt…

Knowing what’s coming does not help. Nor does past exposure. Angela is as alluring now as the day she first stripped for Moira and spread her legs in a silent invitation, and Moira’s skin is as hot and her thoughts as lewd as they were then.

“Our pretty girl,” Ana murmurs. “You dressed up for us.”

“Unnecessary, really,” Moira says. “It’ll be coming off anyway. I like your work clothes, and knowing what a slut is hiding under them.” She lets her eyes sweep over Angela, over her loose hair, and the sweater concealing her torso, and the skirt. “But I like when you dress the part too.”

Angela’s breath audibly catches in her throat. Her eyes flick up and back down. Her lips twitch upward and her thighs spread as if in a silent invitation.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“Now, _Engel,_” Ana says, sitting back in her chair and lording over her girls, “will you undress the part for us too?”

* * *

It is perhaps moments like this that she finds the most humiliating.

The two women in front of her have cajoled her into doing far dirtier things, to be sure. She has worshiped Captain Amari’s dusty combat boots with her lips and tongue while she desperately pleasured herself to completion. She has knelt naked before O’Deorain with her ass in the air and pulled her cheeks apart as if begging for something inside.

But the medical bay is...hers. She is supposed to wield power here. All the nurses and aides and even the other doctors are so attentive to her voice that she never even has to raise it to be heard. This is her domain. Earlier today she performed an examination in this very room.

Perhaps they checked her schedule. Perhaps they know that.

“Wider, _habibti_,” Captain Amari encourages her. Her voice is so warm. The rasp of it sends little tingles across Angela’s skin. 

Angela makes a tight, high-pitched sound in the back of her throat, but she capitulates. She inches her thighs further apart.  The wider she spreads them, the more of her flushed, dimpled skin will peek out from behind the sheer pink of her panties. 

“All the way, Doctor Ziegler. You can do better than that.” Even O’Deorain’s usually brusque tone is gentle. Coaxing.

Both of them are looking up at her face as if there is not a good deal else to be looking at. She is higher than them, seated as she is on the unforgiving metal of the examination table while they both sit in chairs before her, but the elevation only heightens the embarrassment of the situation. Their heads, their eyes, are level with her cunt as she shows it off.

They are both fully clothed, while she is only in her intimates. She was fully clothed when this started, when they first bade her climb on the table and show off for them. She pulled off piece by piece while they offered gentle encouragement. Her clothes now lie in a pile on the floor, and her bra and panties will, presumably, follow soon enough.

Angela closes her eyes like a child believing that doing so will hide her, and she lets her legs fall fully open onto the cold metal of the examination table. Her calves dangle to either side.

Her cheeks burn. She is so warm. She is so needy.

“Beautiful,” O’Deorain says fervently. The compliment goes through Angela like a touch where she needs it. Her thighs tense but she finds no relief from the action.

“Do you have any idea how captivating you are, _Engel_?” Captain Amari asks. When Angela’s only response is to mutely shake her head and whimper, less in answer to the question and more because she is too overwhelmed to answer, Ana chuckles gently and continues nonetheless. “I want to devour you when you look like that. When you blush and want to hide yourself but show off anyway because you’re such a good girl.”

That only makes Angela’s skin burn all the more. She can’t look at them, but she can’t _not _look at them. Somehow they are tormenting her with just their words and their stares, and every sentence raises goosebumps on her skin and intensifies the ache just a little bit more.

She almost feels that she could come just like this, just from the watching.

“You’re radiant,” O’Deorain agrees. She leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees, her face barely a foot from Angela’s own. She has Angela fixed in the hypnotizing stare of her mismatched eyes. Angela wants to _doesn’t want to _needs to _needs not to _look away, but she doesn’t. She tells herself she can’t. “I want to taste you. I want to leave bruises on those thighs. I want to eat you out until you ache from coming, until you’re desperate for relief. I would taste every inch of you.”

Angela can almost feel the bites as she imagines them. She thinks of the stroke of O’Deorain’s tongue between her lips, how that fiery hair looks between her thighs. Memory and imagination do not suffice. If she were bolder, she would grab the doctor’s head and pull her mouth onto her _now. _

“I think she’s kept her modesty long enough,” Captain Amari says.

Angela’s already-short breath leaves her entirely. Her eyes flick from one woman to the other. O’Deorain shifts back in her chair and brings up her leg to cross it ankle over knee. She looks powerful. Casual. At ease with the nearly-naked woman sitting before them.

Captain Amari smiles, and there is a hint of wickedness in it. Angela likes her soft and caring, but she _loves _her cruel.

“Keep going, _Engel. _Strip.”

* * *

Having Overwatch’s pretty young head of surgery and forefront medical researcher naked and pliable to her every whim is no longer a novelty for Ana, but repetition has not diminished her enjoyment. She is as pleasantly aroused now as she was the first time she bade Angela undress for her.

Angela shyly pulls her panties down, awkwardly having to bear her weight on one arm while she lifts up her rear to get them off. She crosses her legs as soon as the cloth is free, hiding the sweet apex of her thighs where her folds are undoubtedly slick and glistening. She tugs the lacy pink scrap of cloth over her knees, and then gravity pulls it to the floor to join the crumpled pile of the rest of her clothes.

Movement on her left distracts Ana’s attention from the nearly-naked woman before her, and she turns to glance at Moira. Her other sometimes-plaything is leaning forward in her chair, piercing eyes fixed intently on Angela. Moira is rather stunning herself, with her tie loose and top button undone and shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. There is color high in her cheeks and hunger clear in her eyes. Ana has never understood her coworkers who call Doctor O’Deorain inscrutable; she is so easy to read. Or perhaps that is only because she lets her pages (and legs) fall open for Ana.

On the examination table, her panties discarded, Angela lifts her hands to fuss with the clasp of her bra. It is pink to match her underpants and plain but for a simple lace trim. She has chosen her lingerie today to be so...innocent. Virginal. It is a contrast to the sinful skirt now lying discarded on the floor. It is a contrast to the rest of the person she is.

After a second of fumbling, Angela manages the clasp. The straps fall down her shoulders, but she brings a hand to hold the garment to her chest. Her eyes flick between Ana and Moira, and Ana imagines she can see in her expression both the shyness she’s playing at today and the undercurrent of lust as she gets off on her own act.

“Drop it,” Moira commands, seemingly unable to help herself. She catches her own impetuousness and glances sideways, but Ana isn’t too interested in reprimanding her for it.

“Go on,” she echoes.

Angela obeys, and the bra falls, and the doctor is naked on her own examination table.

Ana drinks in the sight of her. She takes in the hair loose and messy around her shoulders. The half-closed eyes, their color obscured by pupils blown large. The flush in her cheeks. The soft pink lips open as if begging for a kiss or something lewder to occupy them.

Down her front, past a neck currently unblemished by the marks a lustful mouth might leave there, to her full tits. Her pinkish nipples are erect. Were Ana in a crueler mood, she would enjoy clamping them to hear and watch Angela squirm. But now she is only interested in looking. Perhaps she won’t touch Angela at all today and forbid her from touching herself too, and Ana will go to bed with lovely memories to get herself off.

Angela gives herself away when she spreads her legs open without being bidden. The little treasure they hide is indeed wet and gleaming. Her folds are dark and stand out against the surrounding skin. They really do look like the petals of a rose, curled around each other, but Ana thinks rather of baboons in heat.

“My little _Engel_,” she says. Her voice comes out hoarser than she expects. “How pretty you fall for us. Spread yourself open; there’s a good girl.”

Angela moves her legs further apart and brings a hand down to spread her lips. Her entrance is slick. The hood of her clit above it is sticky and shiny in the light, like a pearl. Ana thinks of how that entrance looks stuffed with some implement of her choosing, how those lips look stretched around an intrusion. How that clit feels when it twitches under her tongue and how all that pretty slick tastes when she eats its owner out.

Maybe Ana will deign to touch herself during this liaison after all. Maybe she’ll bid Moira to have a go at their pet, or instruct Angela to eat Moira out.

But for now she is content simply to look.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated!


End file.
